Music of the Spheres
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: The sociopathic actions of two brilliant men, when their minds turn to murder. young!Walter and young!William.
1. Chapter 1

"Would you say that I am mad?"

_~The Cheshire Cat_

Chapter one.

His night stand was often cluttered with things like broken time pieces and wrinkled cigar bands. She had told him time and time again not to smoke in the house, more or less their bedroom, and he didn't- sometimes he wondered if he just left them there to send her into a rage.

He slept a lot.

The time came and went, for the seasonal camping trip that he took, with his friend William Bell, and, like so many times before, Walter put it off, for one reason or another- Elizabeth needed help with the house or the yard, or with Peter (the child had the worst problem, with starting fires), or he needed to work some extra hours for a refrigerator payment. In any case, it seemed that, when he was at last allowed to leave, with William, their span of a week in the hills had been whittled down to no more than a single day.

So Walter and William threw on some boots and sunscreen and set out for what was certain to be a short-lived trip.

"Bish," William asked, after so long a stint of silence and pushing past pine branches, "Let's stop, for a few moments."

Walter paused, and looked back at him, "Alright."

They had brought little more with them than lunch and a bottle or two of water, but neither of them seemed terribly hungry or thirsty, so they took a seat on a nearby rock to watch the valley below.

"Bish?" William asked again, and Walter raised his brows in attention, "How are things? At home, I mean?"

Walter shrugged, "As well as can be expected, I suppose."

"I notice you don't talk much, anymore."

"What do you mean?"

William plucked at a stalk of grass that he could reach, twisting and examining it in his fingertips, "You just don't. At the lab, or anywhere else. I don't get to see you much."

"I'm usually rather busy, Belly. I'm sorry."

"Things were different, before Liz, that's for sure."

Walter laughed, "Yes, I suppose they were. But things are good, Belly- you should see how much Peter's growing. I blink and he's grown a foot, I swear."

William smiled, "I'm glad. He's a brilliant boy."

Walter only nodded, and took a sip from his canteen. Then, he sighed, "How are things with you, then? What have you been up to?"

"Chasing funding, as always. I don't stay in one place long- I've got to go back to Germany next week, even," William poked at Walter's ear with the grass, and Walter casually batted it away, "Things are pretty average."

Walter nodded. William twisted the grass into a loop and poked his finger through it.

They were both perfectly aware of their own misery.

Walter stilled in staring at William unseeingly, his half-shut eyes widening, "'You hear that?"

William glanced up, "What?"

"Shh." Walter climbed to his feet, looking up the hillside above them, and the glimpse of a salmon-colored shirt disappeared among the steep, jagged rocks, "Up there," Walter whispered, "I hear someone."

William stood, a few inches taller than Walter, squinting up in the direction he had indicated, "Well, we are on private property. I'm sure we wandered out of the state park a while ago. They must be from that private campground on the other side of the mountain."

"The place were they found that overdosed teenager?" and William nodded. Walter squinted up again, frowning, "Come on, Belly. Let's go."

"Let's go up there."

"Hmm?"

"Let's go see what they're up to. We're both good climbers, I bet they wouldn't hear us. The sound echoes down this valley, not up."

Walter considered for a few moments, and then glanced at the place of the sun in the sky. It would probably be dark, by the time they got back to the car… "Yeah, alright. Come on." Walter slung his canteen to the back of his hip, and started up the rocks.

Walter had always enjoyed climbing- not with the traditional ropes and safety equipment, but climbing by his own power, with his hands. There was something about clawing his way up a surface, low to the rock like a silent predator, that reminded him of younger days, when he would attempt to hunt fat, slow ground squirrels with nothing but his pocket knife, 'like an Apache'. Sometimes he would manage to capture them, but he was always scolded and told to let them loose.

William was sneaky, for such a lanky-looking fellow, and Walter felt that he appeared more like a spider than much else, as he teetered his way behind them. With silent lunging and scurrying, they hurried their way up the rock cliff, and Walter silently motioned for William to follow as they circled around behind their target. They ducked behind a rock, at last allowing their heavy breath to escape, waiting for a few moments for their hearts to slow. Walter wiped his lips on his forearm and crept out from cover, peeking down.

It was a blond woman in a pink tee-shirt and white chinos, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a fake tan. Walter could not make out her words, only that she was talking to someone, and suddenly another stranger appeared in view- a fat, bald man in khaki shorts and a dark shirt. By their loud comments and crass laughter and exaggerated motions, Walter surmised that they were intoxicated.

William was watching them over Walter's shoulder, frowning, "Looks like the campground type, all right."

Walter nodded, "I think we may be about to witness something rather unsightly, Belly."

William laughed quietly, "Fornication? I don't want to stick around for this."

"Me, neither."

They turned away from the two and headed off their own way.

They had made it all the way back to the state park before Walter's thoughts had fully formed themselves, "We could have killed them, Belly."

William nodded, "Yeah. But it's not the hardest thing in the world, to sneak up on a couple of drunken lovers getting lucky."

"I've heard that the cases that are the hardest for police to solve are spontaneous murders. Ones without reason or rhyme. There's nothing they can connect it to."

William nodded thoughtfully, "I'd heard that, too," he was silent, for a moment, and looked at Walter, "we should go back."

Walter laughed, "I didn't say that these people got away with it, Belly. They were all caught, you know."

"Of course they would be. But they're not us, Walt- I think we could do it. How would you do it?"

Walter considered, "Well… I guess there are a few ways that it could be done. I mean, it would depend entirely on what end you wanted to achieve."

"But to achieve an end would not make it a spontaneous murder."

Walter shook his head, "That's not what I meant. I meant that you would have to think, from the very beginning, about how you would want it to end."

"Define," William said, looking uncertain.

"Well, we could always make it look like an accident. It's the simplest, but apparently the one they bungle the most, it would seem. But it would be as simple as pushing them over a cliff, or pushing an unsteady rock on them. They're drunk, it happens."

"I don't think we should do it like that."

The fact that William kept referring to Walter's thoughts as actions seemed to further excite his theories, and Walter agreed with a nod, "Yes, I wouldn't like it, either."

"If I kill someone, I want something from it, I think. I don't think that the knowledge alone would sustain me. It seems rather pointless, otherwise."

"The common folly. Trophies, everyone knows about those."

"But what if they just disappeared? That happens, too."

Walter frowned at his friend, seeking clarification, "Define."

"Consider killing them and removing the bodies from the scene," William explained.

Walter thought like a moment, "But what to do, with the bodies? It all seems rather inconvenient, to me. But I suppose we could make it look like a bear attack, something of that kind?"

William nodded, "Perhaps. But it starts to get a little pear-shaped, then. Deniability starts to become uneasy, if they catch on to something. But if we don't leave evidence-"

Walter shook his head, "No such thing. There will always be evidence- one just has to find a way of making what little evidence there is seem too random."

"How would we do that?"

"I don't know." Walter laughed, "I guess that's why the gents get caught, being spontaneous. It's just too much to think about."

"I still think we could do it," William said. They walked on in silence, until they reached the car at the vacant ranger station, "Who would have thought we'd turn out to be crazy, Walt?"

Walter smiled, as he began to unlock the hatchback of the Vista Cruiser, pulling his canteen over his shoulder and tossing it into the back seat, "I wouldn't say that we're crazy. I _would_ say that we're strange."

William fixed him with a stare somewhere between seriousness and eagerness, "We should go back and kill them, Walter."

They stared at each other for a few moments, hearts pounding. Walter was the first to lower his eyes, a bit too quickly not to look guilty, "We can't- not now, in any case. The thing about murder is that it is a thing of convenience- it's too inconvenient, now. It has to be perfect from the start. Our tracks are all over the place, and they're probably long gone, by now."

William nodded, "I suppose you're right."

They sang tunelessly to a cassette of Steve Miller Band on the way back to Walter's house, as if the entire discussion had not taken place, and stopped for a beer or two, before dropping William off at his hotel. William only departed with a smile and a cheerful, "See you, Bish," but Walter knew that both of their thoughts lay on different things.

Elizabeth was not pleased that he was late, more or less of the faint sent of alcohol on his breath and clothes. She only continued with the book keeping, something she often did, when she was displeased. Walter retired before her, and he had only slept a few hours before he awoke to the feel of her warm hand across his heart and her soft breath on his shoulder. He climbed out of bed and quietly left the bedroom, making his way into his study and shutting the door. He scooped the telephone off the desk and settled on the window seat, watching the streetlamp outside before he lifted the receiver, and dialed William's hotel and extension.

"Hello?"

"We should have gone back and killed them, William."

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two.

"_But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked._

_ "Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."_

_ "How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice._

_ "You must be," said the Cat, "Or you wouldn't have come here."_

He was in the doghouse again. And the fact of this was only accented by the fact that Rufus had chewed up his toothbrush. He sighed and left it were he had found it, under the bathroom sink.

Walter turned on the tap and bent down to wash his face in the running basin, a very faint stubble accenting the lather of the soap bar. He brushed his hair back and away from his face with his fingertips, moist curls collecting now and again against the front of his ears as he groped for the hand towel, drawing it in to dry his chin. He gave another sigh as he took in his own reflection in the mirror, dark circles of sleeplessness around his eyes and the lines of restlessness and turbulent thoughts apparent. He raised a finger to touch his bottom eyelid, pulling it down to more closely examine his reddened vision.

A sound made him look up from his observations, and he blinked slowly at Elizabeth, whom watched him from the bathroom doorway. He was careful not to drop his gaze too quickly, when their eyes met, and she was the first to look away, perhaps in disgust.

Walter dried his neck and doffed the towel onto the lip of the sink, idly patting his tee-shirt flat as he passed her on his way out, shutting off the lights. He was stopped as she gripped his sleeve, "Walter."

He waited.

"I want to make this work."

He turned his head toward her, as she raised a hand to touch his cheek, her fingers cold. Her eyes were already starting to glisten, her mask of cold disapproval crumbling away, "I think we can work through this."

Walter shut his eyes, brows knitting.

"I know that you're sorry. That's the only reason… Peter deserves a _family_, Walter. And if I have to change something, if we have to change something… darling, I love you, and I know you didn't mean it…"

Walter turned to wrap her in his arms, and she sobbed into his chest, her tiny shoulders quaking. Of course he hadn't meant to sleep with another woman. Or, perhaps he had. Sometimes he was ashamed of what he did, and the harm it caused Elizabeth. But he was also ashamed of secretly wishing she would leave him.

"I'm sorry, love," Walter said quietly, and it was the truth, "I didn't mean for this to happen. Anything like this."

"Say it won't happen again. Even if it's a lie, please just say it."

He kissed the top of her head, her dark, wiry curls like stitches on his lips, "Never again, darling."

xXx

Walter took his time putting away the equipment and gathering his things. The lab around him was empty and silent, the shapes of gurneys and electrical devices shrouded in white dust covers, the only things faintly visible in the grey light of twilight outside the high windows. He had already shut off the overhead lamps, the only artificial light cast by his desk lamp shining off of white file pages.

He was waiting, he knew in vain- William had said he would arrive that morning to visit. But even now, Walter watched for his friend's silhouette outside the fogged glass of the office door. He sighed, shook his head, and retuned to buckling his book bag shut, reaching across the des for the light switch.

"You're still here?" William Bell questioned, making him look up. He wore and apologetic grin, his hands tucked into his pockets, "sorry, I know I should have called. You wouldn't belive how much liquor I had to pump into those idiots for only a scrap of funding."

"It's alright. I didn't want to go home much anyways."

William raised his brows, "Elizabeth…?"

Walter nodded quietly, returning his bag to the desktop.

"Ah."

"Do you want to go out for a drink? Or no? You did just get back from a bar, I guess you'd be fed up with them. I've got some scotch, let's hit the sofa."

Walter and William joked about freezing their scotch with nitrogen, spoke on a new theory about hybrid animals, and smoked a few cigars. It was quite suddenly that they found nothing further to talk about. They sat in the silence and the smoke for a few minutes.

"Isn't it weird, how terrible things really are?" Walter suddenly questioned.

William looked at him, "What do you mean?"

Walter shook his head, "It's a bit hard to explain. Short of the fact that I just cheated on my wife and am sitting here, still married, no harm, no foul. It's terrible."

"Walter, we've all got weaknesses-"

"You know what I'm talking about. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Things never happen to the right people, didn't you ever notice?"

"I think so," William replied, his thumb straying along the lip of his glass, "but that's just the way things are, sometimes-"

"Not sometimes," Walter cut in sharply, "_all_ the time. Bad things happen to good people, and vice versa. Good people are forced to do bad things, and bad people…" he paused, his thoughts gathering themselves, and William continued to watch him, "We're bad people, Belly."

William considered for a few moments, "I suppose that we are."

"I don't know what to do about it," Walter replied. He sighed, and took the rest of his drink in one mouthful, reaching for the bottle on the low coffee table.

"Then how do we justify being bad people?" William questioned, "Good people make mistakes- how do we know we're not one of them?"

Walter shook his head, silent.

"I think we were to busy lying about ourselves," William agreed to his silence, "we should make the right things start happening to the right people."

"Like what?" Walter asked, his pulse suddenly quickening as his features began to heat with alcohol.

"It's your theory, braniac- you figure it out."

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

"_I quite agree with you," said the Duchess; "And the moral of that is- 'Be what you would seem to be'- or, if you'd like to put it more simply- 'Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.'"_

"No, Marty- until you pay me the money you owe me, you're fucking _nothing_ to me. You're a fucking parasite. Pay me my god-damn money, and I'll stop treating you like a fucking idiot. If you don't pay me back, I'll take it out on those crooked fucking teeth of yours, get me?"

Walter was secretly keeping count of the number of fucks William could cram into the heated phone call. William was pacing the entryway, now, his coat still halfway off of his shoulder as he had become too involved with his own agitation to continue stripping off his winter garments. His scarf slipped off his neck to hit the floor to go unnoticed as he continued, "What the fuck are you talking about? Just pay me my fucking money! I swear to god, I knew you were going to try and fuck me over- Just pay it back, or I'll make your life a living hell. I can't drop this kind of cash like nothing, you fucking moron. I don't give a shit where you get it, rob a fucking orphanage! But pay your fucking dues, I'm fucking serious!"

Eleven. Since he had enter the house. Not including the bits and bobs of other colorful cursing that he had thrown in for decoration. Walter was coy about his amusement, as he moved forward to help his friend with his coat, and William nodded with thanks as he continued the cell phone conversation, "No, Marty. I don't fucking care, Marty. This conversation is over, Marty. The next time we talk, you're head'll be in a fucking vice." He hit the end button on the phone, stowing the blocky article in the pocket of his hanging coat with a sharp sigh.

"Is everything alright?" Walter questioned, mentally tallying the score up to thirteen.

"Maybe if Marty would get his head out of his ass. I don't want to talk about it," William shook his head, running his fingers back through his hair, "I swear to god, people piss me off."

Walter nodded understandingly, "Well, come on in. Elizabeth is getting set to take Peter to his program, we should stay out of the way." Walter beckoned for him to follow, leading the way into the living room.

"Oh- Jeez, I'm sorry, I didn't think Peter would hear any of that…"

"He didn't," Elizabeth called from the kitchen, emerging as she stuffed a Tupperware container of homemade sugar cookies into her oversized bag, "But you may want to tone it down a little in the future, Will."

"Sorry, Liz."

"Walter, will you be sure to get your undershirts off the line?" She did not wait for an answer as she called, "Peter! Your uncle Will is here!"

"It's on the list," Walter conceded, as his son peeked out from the hallway, wide-eyed.

William smiled at Peter, "Hey there, Peterbutter! How's it going? Come on out, give us a hug," A smile lit up Peter's face, and he raced from cover, bulleting across the living room as William scooped him into a hug, "Jeezy creezy! Look at how big you're getting!" William smiled to Walter, "He looks more like you every day."

"We've got to get going," Elizabeth interrupted, striking a stray lock from her eyes as she glanced down at her timepiece, "Peter, tell your uncle Will goodbye."

Peter's face, however young and bright, seemed to constrict with concentration. William looked to Walter, whom shook his head, "Hey, it's okay, Peterbutter. You just keep working on it, it'll come." William ruffled the boy's hair, and settled him back on his feet.

"Peter?" Walter questioned, and Peter looked over at him, "How about a goodbye for daddy?" Peter ran to him, and Walter hauled him up into a hug. They stared into each other's faces for a few moments, before they smiled, and Peter planted a kiss on his father's cheek. Walter set him on his feet, and he scampered to his mother.

Elizabeth was frowning, "Stop doing that," she told Walter, and lead Peter out of the house.

"Is he still having trouble speaking?" William questioned, as Walter slid his hands into his pockets.

"Yes. Elizabeth is worried, the doctors are worried. But I didn't say my first words until I was six, I don't see what the problem is. I don't think he's slow, do you?"

William shook his head.

"It'd be something of an irony, if he were slow," Walter shrugged, "Judging his stock. I don't think Elizabeth could take it, if Peter were slow."

"I don't think he is," William repeated, "he's a sweet boy."

Walter nodded, "To be honest, I think the programs are too slow for him. But perhaps that's simply me being boastful."

Walter didn't like the way Elizabeth kept the house. Everything had a place, and everything was always in its place- he didn't like how it felt as if no one lived there. But he was hardly home, so he had long figured that he had no say in the way things went. He liked their beach house better, as he had boxes upon boxes of _things_ stored there. It didn't feel like he owned much of anything, anymore.

William fiddled with a small, soldiered iron boat anchored to a granite base on the mantle, as Walter delved into the liquor cabinet, and Walter didn't bother to tell him not to, "It seems like things are back to normal enough, around here," he mused.

"Speak for yourself," Walter replied with a smirk as he emerged with a bottle of bourbon, "Your favorite?" he questioned, and William chuckled, nodding. Walter smiled, "I'll get some ice."

"Blasphemy," William replied seriously.

"I like ice," Walter reasoned.

"How's Henry, then? Where'd he run off to, I haven't heard from him in ages," William called into the kitchen as Walter was rummaging around for the spilled ice trays among the frozen cauliflower, "since graduation, and that was what, seventeen years ago? We're getting old, Bish."

"I was always old," Walter grumbled, pinching the rims of two glasses in his fingertips as he tiptoed back into the living room, settling his gathering on the coffee table. A ring of moisture raised the cover of an Avon magazine, "Henry's dead."

William's brows shot up on his forehead, "Oh?"

"He was up doing some work on the effects of the oil drilling in Alaska. They said it was an accident, the poor fool."

They were silent for a few moments in faux remorse.

"Biologists." William scoffed. Walter laughed, and poured them their drinks.

The patter of rain on the patio roof was faint, through the open bay doors as Walter watched his undershirts shrivel into stringy white shapes on the line, "I'm on restriction, you know," he commented at last.

"What's that?"

"Restriction from going out. It's not a rule, but I know what Elizabeth means by it. I think it's just best that I stay in, for a couple of days."

William frowned, "Why?"

Walter chuckled, "It's a lax punishment. I could be losing half of everything, for the stunts I've pulled."

"Just the ones she knows about," William agreed with a wink into his glass.

"I think I'd miss Peter the most," Walter said, "He'd be fine without me, so long as he had Elizabeth. She's a wonderful mother."

William shifted, on the couch beside him, "Planning on going anywhere, Bish?"

"Nope." Walter took another drink. He smirked as he pulled up one of Peter's striped beanie caps, pulling it snugly over his head. His dark curls clawed up from the brim, nearly over his eyes, and William laughed.

"That looks terrible."

"_You _look terrible. I'll murder your face." Walter ducked away as William made a grab for the hat. He paused suddenly, as he remembered.

William's brows furrowed, "What's up?"

"Belly, do you remember…" Nearly a year had passed, since their hiking trip. Walter thought of it often, more often than he should have, "No, never mind."

A smile spread onto William's face- not one of amusement, but something that seemed like slight shyness, if even flattery, "The hiking trip, right?"

Walter blinked in shock.

"You're still thinking about those two drunk people, and how we could have killed them."

"It- It was idle chatter, Belly, just and interesting conversation-"

"You bring it up every time we talk like this. I still think we could have gotten away with it," William said. He polished the lip of his glass with his thumb, as he often did, when he was musing, "I still think we can."

Walter swallowed, before realizing that he had not yet taken a drink.

"Do you want to?" William questioned, looking up from his hands, "kill someone, I mean?"

Walter stared at him, the skin on the back of his neck tingling, "I just…" he knew that if he looked away now, William would know anyways, "…yes."

"Then let's do it."

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter six.

_It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself, "The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She'll have me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where _can_ I have dropped them, I wonder?" _

Fall offered a selection of apples for his choosing, his least favorite of which was the golden delicious. Too mealy.

Walter briefly pondered a tall display of granny smiths, at last stooping to pluck up a paper bag, his fingertips twitching across his chin as he silently calculated mass, circumference, and price, "Walt, can we please _go_?" William at last whined.

"In a bit."

William blew air through his cheeks, covering his eyes with his hand, "You're boring me to death, Bish."

"What am I to do, a song and dance?" Walter snapped, grumpy as his calculations were interrupted, "It was your own choice to tag along. I could have met you at the bank."

William shrugged, "I wasn't doing anything else anyways. But, honestly, watching you shop is absolute torture."

"Then go do something else-"

"Not for me, I'm used to you being boring. Poor little Peter is falling asleep," Peter, still dressed in his preschool uniform and holding William's hand quietly, was rubbing his eyes tiredly. William frowned at Walter, "it's your obligation to entertain him, while Elizabeth is away."

"William-" Walter started testily.

"What I offer is a simple solution," William interrupted with a smile, and Walter sighed, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet, "Lemme get Peterbutter some, ah, I-C-E-"

"He can spell," Walter interrupted.

"Well, then, why not? Do you want some ice-cream, big guy?" William stooped slightly to smooth back Peter's hair as his grip on Williams sleeve tightened, and a smile spread across each of their faces.

"Fine," Walter replied, "I'll meet you at the drugstore after checkout. Don't get distracted, I still have to drop Peter off with Elliot before we go to the bank." He began selecting apples, shuffling them into the paper bag by twos.

"Does he have a nut allergy?" William questioned.

"Would he still be holding your hand?" Walter smirked slightly, tipping the bag into the scale.

"I knew it! You're never this boring on purpose. I'll get you a pistachio strawberry cone. Later, Bish." William gave him a wink and scampered off with Peter down the organics aisle.

"None of that Wavy-Gravy nonsense you like!" Walter called after them. He shook his head with a smile, and folded the paper bag shut, settling it among the cracker boxes as he consulted his messily-scrawled list through his bifocals. "Bacon? I suppose she wants some of that fake-on garbage in the hippie aisle..."

"Bish!" William caught up with him at the checkout stand, as he was counting out the total of his purchase at the register, and his face looked pallid with worry.

"They were out of pistachio?" Walter questioned with a smirk, beginning to load his groceries into the basket.

"No- Bish, I can't find Peter!"

Walter froze, "What?"

"We were at the store, and I looked away for a second to steal some gummibears, and- and he was just gone-!" Walter was already sweeping toward the front of the store, apples scattering in his wake, and William was at his heels, "I swear to god, Bish, it was only for a damn second-!"

Walter was pushing violently through sidewalk traffic, his senses peaked with panic, "Peter!" He shouted, "Peter!" He suddenly gripped William by the collar, snarling, "You help me find him, or a swear to god-"

"There!" William cried, pointing. Across the street, a stranger in a white ball cap and a dark blue jacket was pulling Peter along by the arm, looking alarmed and frightened. They were slipping unhindered around the corner of the drugstore, as Peter could raise no alarm to his entrapment.

"Hey!" Walter shouted, and the stranger paused, looking back. Peter, looking very confused in tow, tugged away from the man, toward his father, "Peter!"

"Bish!" William shouted after Walter as he bolted for his son. Peter's struggling had sufficiently slowed the abductor, and Walter dodged the traffic on the street, cars honking and squeaking breaks at his interruption. He vaulted the hood of a parked car, and in three fleeting steps, had the stranger by the collar, driving him into the pavement.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Walter hissed, "I'll fucking kill you, you god damn freak!" The man opened his mouth to speak, and Walter broke his jaw. He raised his fist again, his teeth bared, "Don't you _dare_ touch my son-!" and he struck him again, blood bursting from his nostrils and a cut under his eye, "You son of a-!" Walter roared, driving his arm down with all his strength, repeatedly. He wanted to feel pavement, under the blood squeezing through his fingers, and had no intention of stopping his punishment until he did...

"Walter!" Arms seized him under the armpits, ripping him away from his victim, and he struggled to get free, ragged growls tearing from his throat through clenched teeth, "Walter, _stop it_! Stop! Calm the fuck down!"

A gurgle, followed by a small moan, was the only response, from the abductor, writhing on the cement. Walter was panting as he shrugged off William's grip, wiping his lips on his blood-dotted forearm, "son of a bitch," he breathed.

Peter had begun to cry, huddled silently on the sidewalk, and Walter's face softened, as he stooped to gather him up, holding him tightly, "It's alright, Peter. I've got you. You didn't do anything wrong, I'm sorry I shouted." William was stooping to gather Walter's glasses off the pavement.

Peter sobbed into his father's collar, "Daddy, I'm scared."

xXx

"Yes. He's safe, now, he's staying with James and Elliot. I dropped him off this afternoon, I had to clean up before I went to finalize on the loan- "

"Jesus Christ, Walter. Just... Jesus Christ. If that man had gotten our boy-" Elizabeth's voice was tight with stress and tears, on the other end of the telephone line.

"He didn't, Liz. The police have him, now, and Peter is safe. There's nothing else that can be done."

"Thank god they got to him so fast. And they just took your statement and arrested him?"

"Yes," Walter replied, shaking stinging iodine from his torn knuckles and drying his quaking hands on a towel as he held the telephone in the crook of his neck.

"And Will didn't do anything rash, did he? You stopped him didn't you? I don't think Peter could have taken it, if... you stopped him, didn't you?"

"Yes," Walter repeated.

There was a shifting, over the line, and Walter knew that she was rubbing tears from her eyes, and he took a seat on the side of the bathtub, beginning to wind gauze tape around his hand, "I'm coming home, Walter-" Elizabeth started.

"No, darling. Stay with your mother, she needs you to help plan the funeral. Peter will be safe, I've taken the weekend off from work to spend with him, we'll be fine."

"Jesus Christ, Walter."

"I know. I'll see you on montag, alright?" he at last lifted his freshly bandaged hand to take the phone away from his neck, standing and stretching.

"Alright, Walter," she replied hesitantly. Walter smiled into the receiver.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too."

"Buh-bye." and he ended the call. He clicked the phone back onto its place in the hallway, kicking the drooping cord tight against the wall so that he wouldn't trip over it again. scratching his forehead unconsciously, he moved to the dark, empty living room, draping himself over the sofa silently. It was hard to believe he and Belly had only murdered someone that very same morning.

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

xXx

Chapter five.

_Fury said to the mouse, that he met in the house,_

_'let us both go to law: _I_ will prosecute_ you_-_

_come, I'll take no denial; we must have a trial:_

_For really this morning I've nothing to do.'_

_Mouse to the cur, 'such a trial, dear sir,_

_With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath.'_

_'I'll be the judge, I'll be the jury,' said the cunning old Fury,_

_'I'll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.'_

Her name hadn't been important, but he had remembered it anyways; Carla. He'd hired her at random, just as they had planned, and he'd been surprised, when the young, pretty thing had arrived at the lab that morning, fresh and wide-eyed; she'd said that he'd inspired her.

It was a good start to a poor ending. For her, at least. If it was an end at all, now that he thought of it.

William was the first to raise question, "Bish, who's the doll?" he asked lowly as Walter was washing up in a low, porcelain basin. Out of earshot of the intern, whom continued to stare about the low laboratory in wonderment.

"Her name is Carla," Walter had replied, just as quietly, "I hired her this morning." he twisted off the tap and shook his hands partially dry, and he allowed himself a smirk, "she's a big fan of mine, apparently."

William seemed unamused, "Can we _afford _this piece of eye candy?"

Walter shrugged, "She won't see her first paycheck anyways."

William looked confused and skeptical for a few moments, before his features slackened with realization. He hadn't told Belly, of course, of his plan, but the man was smart enough to figure out Walter's actions on his own. A smile flitted across his face, and he smoothed a hand along Walter's shoulders fondly.

Despite his reassuring, if even approving, glances and touches, Walter's pulse fluttered against his tie.

They had waited until the evening to do it, some time around twilight- there was no rush. The bats were swooping against the high windows in the cool, nibbling mosquitoes from the grass that fringed the yellowed panes.

Walter had chosen his actions carefully, but not meticulously. He would merely do what made logical sense to him, in the presence of a completely illogical situation. He had known when he had stepped toward her back, thick glass beaker in hand, that there was no turning back from his decisions.

It thrilled him.

William had risen to follow him, eyes intent on Walter rather that their unsuspecting victim, and his footsteps were fleeting to flank them and distract her, as Walter closed the distance between them.

He stooped and brought the heavy glass article up in a swipe, colliding with the back of her skull. The beaker did not break, a low, heavy gong sound echoing in the twilight of the basement. An upward thrust- even an idiot would conclude that the attack had been anticipated by someone much shorter than his own height.

She tipped forward, swooning. But he had restricted his strike on purpose, and continued forward, the instrument splattering the skin into blood, and she collapsed forward onto the cement, a rattling moan escaping her.

William was suddenly upon her- he had been circling them when the attack had begun, and, seeing her fall, had pounced forward, a razor knife appearing in his hands, "No!" Walter cried, stooping to grip his arm and pull him back, away from the girl, "William, no!" he had intended a bludgeoning death, one with the least amount of physical evidence.

"Walter!" William retorted sharply, struggling away from him, back toward his prey, "Walter, it's now! It's our chance!"

"No!" Walter repeated again, twisting William's arm painfully, and the man winced, easing away. At last, Walter released him, and he stood over the body, his breathing heavy.

Suddenly, William offered him the razor knife, "You do it."

"What?" Walter demanded.

"Cut her throat. She'll bleed out, you won't get any on you..." William's eyes were turbulent with hunger and madness, as he pressed on, "She might not die, if we don't. We're wasting time, and if they're good, they'll wonder what took so long. Please, Walter." his voice whined, as Walter's appellation escaped his lips.

Walter's trembling hand closed around the knife, Williams' fingers icy against his sweating palms. The razor knife was rattling, as he stooped over the body, her moaning growing fainter as she writhed more and more slowly.

A tendon of her neck formed a ridge, along the smooth curve of flesh, and he extended the razor further, as he lowered it, using the flat of the edge to carve in, rather than the point to puncture. His first motion had been tentative, as little more that a prickle of slicing skin was felt, against the knife. He flexed the muscles of his arm and pressed deeper, his lips drawing back from his teeth in effort, and the tendon sliced cleanly, blood flowing more freely from the wound, and she twitched, making him hesitate. Then, he continued with his pressure across her neck, a jagged, torn line, as the razor found softer tissue, cutting into her deeply, perhaps a little too deeply, and he had to pull the thin blade out of her throat when he reached the other end, "Belly," he breathed, staring as she was choking softly, small bubbles of red issuing from the slice, "Belly, damn it, I've botched it...!"

"No, Bish, it's perfect, just perfect," William whispered softly into his ear, his hand caressing the back of Walter's neck, "Don't worry, it's perfect. See? She's dead."

Walter drew back from the body before the blood could touch his white lab coat, a sick flop sweat dampening his brow and armpits. He felt chilled, with William's hot hand still against his skin. She was dead. He'd done it. There was more blood than he'd imagined. Pure panic jolted him like an illness.

His eyes turned to William, whom was smiling. His lips were slightly agape, and he was panting with adrenaline, as he rubbed his arm in a circular motion over Walter's shoulders comfortingly, "You're trembling."

xXx


End file.
